We were sitting heavy after a long day. There was a lot of whining. A lot of poop. A long walk outside when I should of worn a coat but was too tired to put my own on after getting theirs. This week involved two people on antibiotics and plans for a trip to Michigan moved up a day because of a megastorm. Nuff said.
Now, Elisa was half eating and half playing air hockey with her Rice Chex. She offered me some. Bite. Half to mama. Bite, bite. Half to mama. Break and share, sticky fingers aiming for my mouth and giggling when they met their mark. Breaking "bread."
This is my Body, broken for you.
I weary-walk through the story for her: Jesus said whenever we break bread to remember Him. He took bread and broke it and gave it to his friends and told them to remember.
I crush a piece of cereal. He let his body be broken just like this to be punished for the bad things we have done.
For all of this. So I can sit here with this eternal being stuffed into an 18 pound body. So I can share the good news that all my mess is made right before God with a person sitting in a booster seat.
Suddenly, I have gone and told it on the mountain to myself. Suddenly, I am a communicant with Rice Chex Eucharist. Suddenly, I am Peter with my eyes opened after walking Emmaus.
When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:30-32, NIV)
In breaking "bread" with my daughter, in taking in eucharist and breathing out eucharisteo for his breaking, I suddenly recognized Jesus in my midst. I have missed him.
It's easy to do. He's hard to recognize with those two front teeth and sweet smile like her daddy, even harder with purple lips from angry breath-holding in the midst of the messy mundane.
But he's been there.
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’" (Matthew 25:37-39, NIV)
Who else but a baby is hungry, thirsty, a stranger welcomed, naked, and sick?
Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ (v. 40)
Isn't that the crux of the Advent story? That an entire nation missed the Messiah because he came disguised as a helpless infant?
I have missed serving him in mine. I have forgotten the wonder of a Savior coming like the sticky child at my kitchen table.
I know this Advent season's crush in a whole new way this year. I know yours is probably as breathless as mine. You might be grieving this season. Ground down by circumstances. Gasping for hope while you gift wrap.
Don't miss Him.
He might be sitting in your kitchen, your classroom, your car, your broken-limbed family tree, the dark after the lights on the tree are out for the night.
He came. He was broken. He's revealed when we remember.
Be one who sees.